


No Better Version of Me

by antonomasia09



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bounty Hunter Jango Fett, Bounty Hunters, CT-21-0408 | Echo Lives, Fugitive CT-21-0408 | Echo, Gen, Hurt CT-21-0408 | Echo, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jango Fett Lives, Starvation, Vomiting, clone feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24512011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antonomasia09/pseuds/antonomasia09
Summary: After Echo escapes from the Techno Union, Jango Fett is hired to recover their lost algorithm.
Relationships: CT-21-0408 | Echo & Jango Fett
Comments: 23
Kudos: 153





	No Better Version of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Infinite thanks to [alyyks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyyks/pseuds/alyyks) for beta reading, allowing me to complain at her every time I got stuck because Jango is just _so stubborn_ and _too good at his job_ , and coming up with at least five different brilliant scenarios each time.

Jango hates Skako Minor almost as much as he hates Coruscant. The gusting winds make it nearly impossible to land his ship, the entire planet reeks, and the Techno Union representatives he’s meeting with exude the same smug attitude as any Core-born senator.

“I want fifty thousand,” he tells Hallio Bas, who makes a sound of outrage.

“We will pay fifteen thousand and no more,” the Skakoan says.

Jango shrugs and makes as if to walk away. “Guess you don’t want your algorithm back, then,” he says.

He doesn’t get far. “Wait,” Bas calls, breathless. “Twenty five thousand.”

Jango shakes his head. He’s almost beginning to enjoy himself; it’s always fun to get Bas flustered. “I have no stake in this war,” Jango says. “All I care about is making money. If you’re not willing to pay reasonable prices, I’ll find another job that will, and you can say goodbye to whatever advantage this algorithm was giving you.”

“We can find another bounty hunter,” Bas says.

“Not one as good as me.”

It’s fact, not just pride. Jango knows his competition, and how much they usually charge. If the Techno Union thought this was a job anyone could pull off, they wouldn’t have even begun negotiating with Jango.

“Thirty thousand,” Bas says, and Jango pauses, pretending to think over the offer. In truth, it’s higher than he’d expected to get from the Techno Union; they must want this algorithm back badly.

“Fine,” Jango says. “Half now, half when I return the algorithm to you.”

“Acceptable.” 

Bas has a sour look on his face, which Jango pretends to ignore. “You’ve got a tracking fob for me?”

“Yes.” Bas waves to a droid, which steps forward to hand Jango the fob and his credits. “We expect that algorithm back in our hands within a week. That shouldn’t be difficult for someone of your reputation and...price range.”

Jango makes sure the fob is functional and then tucks it into his belt. “No trouble at all,” he says.

***

It really _isn’t_ difficult to track the target down to Metalorn, an industrial planet out in the Mid Rim controlled by the Techno Union. The signal is coming from one of the underground city-factories, where laborers work nonstop making security droids for the Separatists as well as all sorts of everyday technologies for the Republic.

It’s almost too easy, actually, as if whoever has the chip isn’t even bothering to hide. Odd that Jango would find it on a Techno Union world, too; he’d expected the thief to be skulking around Hutt territory, or even the Republic if the algorithm truly was that valuable to the Separatists.

There are no civilian spaceports on the planet, only industrial loading areas. Jango sets down in one of those, at the request of Monitor Control, which is in charge of planetary security. He follows the tracker down below the polluted surface into the city. The heat, the stench, and the palpable waves of misery coming from the workers remind him too much of the spice transport where he spent two years of his life in chains, and he has to consciously focus on his breathing to ward away a full-on flashback.

The city’s residential area, if it can really be called that, consists mainly of crumbling apartment buildings that look like they might collapse in on themselves if Jango gives them the slightest tap. He grimaces when the signal leads him to one that looks even worse than the rest — the top floors have already caved in, and he thinks the rest could go at any time.

Hopefully, whoever’s got the chip will just give it up without a fight, if they realize that firing blasters will make the whole building fall on their heads.

Jango sighs, eases the front door open carefully, and steps inside. There are no signs of life on the first floor; obviously none of the workers are stupid or desperate enough to try to live here. It seems the thief is, though, because the tracker leads him up three flights of stairs and to the end of a hallway. It’s blinking frantically now. Jango must be close.

He pulls out his multitool and quickly picks the lock on the door. A thermal scan shows only one life-form on the other side and he doesn’t detect any obvious booby traps, although he won’t lower his guard.

With the building this badly maintained, the door is bound to make noise when Jango opens it, which will alert the thief. He’ll have to be fast.

He counts to three and then shoves the door open as hard as he can and rushes headfirst at the figure who whirls around at the intrusion, but can’t get their hand on the obvious bulge of the blaster underneath their cloak in time. Jango knocks them down with a single punch to the head, and scrambles to catch them before they fall down hard and maybe take the building with them. They feel humanoid, he thinks, but there’s something weirdly spiky along their spine.

With the thief safely unconscious for the moment, Jango turns his attention to the tracker, sweeping around the dismal apartment to locate where the chip is hidden. The fob blinks more insistently when Jango is facing the thief, though, so it must be hidden somewhere on their body.

Jango searches through their pockets quickly and efficiently and finds nothing. If it’s not on them then it must be _in_ them. Swallowed, or subdermally implanted. The fob isn’t accurate enough to narrow the search down that much, though. Jango is going to have to wait until the thief wakes up and then ask. He hopes it’s under the skin somewhere; he’d much rather cut off a limb than wait for the chip to pass through the digestive system.

With a sigh, Jango pulls back the hood, wanting to get an idea of what species he’s going to be working with, and then stumbles backwards spewing every curse word he knows because that’s _his face_ on the man lying there. It’s gaunt and pale, and there are metal pieces that have been drilled into the skull, but it’s unmistakeable.

The Techno Union didn’t hire Jango to bring back a chip. They hired him to return a fugitive clone.

***

Jango throws the trooper over one shoulder and hauls him back to his ship. The clone is surprisingly heavy, considering the fact that Jango can feel his ribs through his cloak. It’s not until he sets him down in the cargo bay and removes the cloak to get a better look that Jango discovers why; the clone’s entire lower half is solid metal prosthesis. His right arm is too, although it’s not so much an arm as it is a tool that looks like it’s meant to fit into an astromech socket. There’s more metal embedded in his chest and all the way down his spine, and some sort of tech covering or maybe even replacing his left ear.

A quick scan of the clone’s mostly-intact left arm gets Jango an ident and a service record. The man lying in front of him is ARC-1409, known as Echo, and according to his file, he died a year ago on Lola Sayu while infiltrating a Separatist prison at the age of ten.

Jango cuffs Echo’s intact wrist to the wall. He may have been able to take Echo by surprise earlier, and the man looks like he hasn’t seen solid food since the Techno Union got their hands on him, but Jango designed the ARC training program. Even half-dead, Echo is dangerous.

Jango should go up to the cockpit, should get them out of atmosphere, should start the jump calculations for Skako Minor.

He doesn’t. He’s not sure he can. He wishes he hadn’t read Echo’s age in his file.

Jango has made it very clear to anyone who asks that he wants no part of this war. He was paid for the use of his genetic template, and paid even more to put together a training regimen for the earliest batches of cadets, but he doesn’t give a damn about either the Republic or the Confederacy except to hope that a lot of Jedi die in the conflict.

Boba is his son. The rest of the clones may resemble Boba and Jango, but they’re just cannon fodder.

Looking at Echo, though, Jango’s not sure if he believes that anymore.

Boba is older than Echo. The modified clones might age twice as fast as a normal human, but Jango can’t help but think about ten-year-old Boba, injured, in the hands of an enemy that treats him as a science experiment. All of a sudden, it’s hard to breathe, and Jango yanks his bucket off so that he can dig his nails into his scalp and get himself under control.

Echo twitches and moans, and Jango freezes, caught between a desire to help him sit up properly and a desire to run before Echo can see him.

Echo’s eyes blink open, and come to rest on Jango’s face. “Fives?” he whispers, and something in Jango’s chest twists at the sheer force of the hope and longing in that whispered name.

“No,” Jango says.

Echo frowns. He’s clearly still not fully awake. “Then who…” Jango can tell the moment Echo remembers what happened. He struggles up into a crouch, tugging desperately at the cuff anchoring him to the wall.

“Hey, stop,” Jango says. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Echo’s head whips around. There’s fear in his eyes but none in his voice when he demands, “Who are you? You can’t be…my brothers would never…” he trails off, and sags to his knees, bowing his head in despair. “It was all a trick, wasn’t it. I never really got away.”

He’s shivering. It’s cold in the cargo bay, and Jango had removed his cloak to get a better look at him. Part of Jango wants nothing more than to tuck the cloak back around Echo’s shoulders and run a hand over the kid’s shaved head.

Jango reminds that part of himself how utterly stupid it would be to get that close to an ARC. He also reminds himself that he has a job to do, and there’s no point getting attached.

“You got away,” he tells Echo. “The Techno Union hired me to recover their algorithm.”

Echo shudders, and this time there’s recognition when he looks up. “Jango Fett,” he says. “Bounty hunter.”

“Yes.”

Echo nods and closes his eyes. “I hope they’re paying you a lot.” There’s more than a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Thirty thousand,” Jango says.

“I cost the Republic nearly two hundred and fifty thousand,” Echo says. “You could do better.”

“I thought I was looking for a data chip.” Jango ignores the taunt. He’s not going to sell Echo; he’s no fekking slave trader.

_Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing if you return him to the Techno Union?_ a voice in his head whispers.

Jango stands abruptly, noticing the way Echo flinches back, but then glares at him, pure defiance. “I’m not going to let you take me back,” he says.

Jango nods, draws his blaster, and stuns Echo in one smooth motion.

It hadn’t been an empty threat, Jango knows. He’s seen that determination before in dozens of bounties. Faced with no possibility of escape and no way to get rid of Jango, Echo would try to harm himself. He would probably succeed, too. The astromech prosthetic looks useless for everyday activities, but it’s definitely sharp.

Jango drags Echo back upright, props him against the wall so that his full weight isn’t resting on his cuffed wrist, and then covers him with the discarded cloak. The stun setting wasn’t all that high, but given the shape Echo is in, Jango figures he’s probably got a few hours before the clone wakes up.

He stands and starts climbing up the ladder. He needs to get them in the air before he loses his nerve.

Jango is suddenly very glad that he didn’t take Boba with him on this job. He doesn’t think he’d be able to look him in the eye right now.

***

The Perlemian trade route is the easiest and fastest way to travel between Metalorn and Skako Minor — the trip out to the Mid Rim had taken Jango only a day and a half. He sets a course for the nearest hyper point, and only hesitates a moment before locking it in.

He has to take Echo back to Skako Minor. He doesn’t have a choice.

The Techno Union hired Jango to do a job, and he always fulfills his contracts. He has a reputation that he’s carefully cultivated over the years, as well as a sense of professional pride. He can get away with charging high prices for his services because his clients know that he’s efficient and reliable.

Jango also has a child to feed and a ship to fuel, and he needs to continue getting jobs if he wants to do either of those things.

There’s also the fact that his ship would have been logged by Monitor Control the moment he entered Metalorn’s atmosphere, and they would have noted when he left. If the Techno Union checks their records, they’ll know that he went there, and that there was nothing else he could possibly have picked up on that rocky wasteland except for his bounty. If he doesn’t return soon, they’ll know he hasn’t failed but instead chosen to break his contract.

It was supposed to be a data chip. This would all have been so kriffing easy if it was a data chip.

Jango groans. He took his time laying in the coordinates and double-checking the jump calculations, and then wallowing in self-pity, and by now it’s been long enough that Echo could be waking up at any moment.

He heads for the ladder, thinks about Echo’s sunken stomach and gaunt cheeks, and turns around long enough to grab a couple of ration bars and a bottle of water.

He’s halfway down when he starts hearing noises, and slides the rest of the way in a hurry, thinking that Echo’s trying to escape. When he turns around, though, Echo’s eyes are still closed, but his whole body is shaking enough to rattle the chain attaching his hand to the wall. He’s making choked noises, cut off, as though even in his sleep he knows to keep quiet.

Echo jerks back to consciousness with a gasp and curls in on himself, breathing hard. The cloak slips down, displaying the horrible metal implant in his chest again.

It takes him some time to notice that Jango is there, but the moment he does, he stills, and when he sits up, his face is blank, all traces of weakness hidden away.

“Are we there?” he asks.

Jango shakes his head. “Thirty hours out,” he says.

Echo’s expression flickers between relief and dread.

Jango knows what it’s like to lose his freedom, to prefer death over being returned to his tormentors. To be alone with no one to help him. He doesn’t know how Echo earned his name, but he can’t help seeing the echoes of his own life in this clone.

He has no choice, he reminds himself.

Jango holds up a ration bar. “You want this?”

Echo hesitates. Jango unwraps it anyway and tosses it over to land on Echo’s lap. Echo manages to spear it with his prosthetic and transfer it to his cuffed hand, and then cranes his neck awkwardly to eat.

Jango sits down on an empty crate, unwraps another, and takes a bite himself. They don’t talk while they eat, but Echo keeps an eye on Jango the entire time. Jango pretends not to notice.

Once they finish, Jango unscrews the cap of the water bottle. “If you try and stab me, you’ll regret it, understand?” he says.

“Yes,” Echo says quietly.

Jango figures it’s sixty-forty odds that he tries it anyway, and is pleasantly surprised when Echo doesn’t attack when Jango edges close enough to hand him the water.

Echo takes small sips, and Jango waits patiently while he finishes the bottle. He drops it once it’s empty and lets it roll towards Jango, who stoops to pick it up once it gets close enough that he’s not in danger of getting kicked.

Echo catches the edge of the cloak with his prosthetic, and pulls it up enough that he can huddle underneath it. “Are you going to stun me again?” he says.

“You’re a danger to me and to yourself,” Jango tells him. He thumbs his blaster to a slightly higher setting. There’s no point coming back in a few hours just to do this all over again.

“No wait, please!” Echo’s prosthetic comes up as if it could ward off the stun blast. “When I sleep, I’m back there already.”

Jango’s heart twists, but...“I can’t trust you down here.”

“I…I won’t try anything. I promise you.”

Jango doesn’t believe that for an instant. If their positions were reversed, he would stop at nothing to escape. He knows Echo isn’t lying about the nightmares, though. If Jango knocks him out again, Echo will dream of torture, and wake up on a table to the horrors made manifest. It feels cruel to take away the few hours of almost-freedom Echo has left.

There was a name Echo had mumbled when he first saw Jango… “Fives,” Jango says. “Swear to me on Fives.”

Echo presses his lips together and swallows hard. “I swear on Fives’ life I won’t try to escape.”

Jango takes his hand off his blaster. It’ll do for now. If Echo looks like he’s going to try anything clever, Jango can always stun him again later.

He settles back down on the empty crate. Echo looks up at him, uncertain. “Are you just going to sit there and watch me for the next thirty hours?” Echo asks.

Jango shrugs, pulls out a vibroblade and a whetstone, and starts sharpening it. When there’s nothing else to do he normally prefers to clean his blasters, but he’s not taking any of them apart in front of his prisoner.

Echo eyes the blade warily, but after a few minutes of Jango mostly ignoring him, he settles back.

“Why am I not in one of those?” Echo says, and Jango looks up to see him pointing to the pair of cages to his left.

Jango raises an eyebrow. “Should you be?”

“No!” Echo says quickly.

Jango huffs. “You were heavy, and I didn’t realize you were an ARC when I first dropped you down.”

“And now?”

“Still heavy.”

Echo doesn’t look like he believes Jango. In truth, Jango’s not really sure why he didn’t do it beyond the remembered horror of waking up in a cage himself, and an unwillingness to see his own face behind bars.

“Is there anything I could do to convince you to let me go?”

Jango tightens his grip on the blade. “No. And if you try, I will knock you out again.”

Echo ducks his head. He’s quiet for awhile, and Jango lets himself get lulled by the steady motions of the blade along the stone, until Echo says quietly, “My brothers think I’m dead.”

“What?”

“There’s no rescue coming for me, and the Seppies will make sure I can’t escape again. They’ll…they’ll take my legs away, I think. Barely ever let me use them anyway.”

Jango takes a harsh breath. A slab of meat on a table, unable to fight back, unable to run. “The Techno Union is officially neutral in the conflict,” he says.

The look Echo gives him is _deeply_ skeptical. “Sure,” he says. “That’s why they were using me to decode GAR transmissions and analyze military strategies for weaknesses. To maintain their neutrality.”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Jango says. “I’m giving you one warning.”

“It’s hard to look at you,” Echo whispers. “You look like one of us, and every time I see your face I forget that you’re not. I hope, just for a second…”

Jango has a sudden urge to put his helmet back on, but he left it upstairs.

“Stop talking,” he says, harsher than he means to, and Echo flinches back.

Jango sheathes his first vibroblade and starts on a second one. Again there is quiet for awhile, until he notices that Echo’s breathing has gotten faster, louder. Jango ignores it, hoping that Echo will realize that whatever he’s playing at this time won’t work.

It doesn’t stop, though. Jango finally looks over to find Echo hunched over, his prosthetic held tightly against his belly as if he’s in pain, and his forehead pressed firmly against his knees.

“Cut it out,” Jango says, and Echo picks his head up, and kriff, either he’s a better actor than Jango would have guessed or there’s actually something wrong with him because he’s about three shades paler than he was before, and his teeth are chattering.

“What?” is all Jango is able to say before the ration bar Echo just ate comes back up. Echo manages to tilt his head just enough that it mostly hits the grating and not himself, groans, and curls back up again.

Jango curses, wrinkling his nose at the sour smell. He’s got a cleaning droid for the blood and…other things that get left behind from the bounties he transports, but he’s still not sure this isn’t a trick. That is, until Echo vomits again, and this time there’s blood mixed in with the chunks of undigested ration bar.

“What the hells?” Jango says.

This came on too suddenly to be any kind of bacterial or viral infection. It could be withdrawal, maybe, but Echo was missing for a couple of days, and any drugs the Techno Union had pumped into him should be well out of his system by now. Jango doesn’t have a clue what else it could be, unless…oh _fek_.

“Hey,” he says. “What was the Techno Union feeding you?”

“Don’t know,” Echo says, the words muffled. “I-intravenous.” He makes a bitten-off sound of pain, and this time there’s no food left to come up, but red-streaked bile splatters near his feet.

“And what did you eat after you escaped?”

“Didn’t,” Echo grits out. He’s shivering, the tremors wracking his body, and his cuffed hand is clenched tightly in a fist.

Jango curses again. He’s seen for himself how damaged Echo’s torso looks, how much of it is missing. Who knows how much of a digestive system he has left?

Actually. Echo probably does.

“Did you know this was going to happen when you ate that ration bar?” Jango demands.

Echo ducks his head, tensing like he expects to be hit. “Not for sure,” he says.

Jango checks his chrono and fights the urge to kick the crate. Twenty-eight hours out from Skako Minor. Jango has first aid supplies on board, but nothing that can help with organ failure. Echo isn’t going to make it that long without actual medical intervention.

Jango calls up a galactic map on his wrist device and does some quick math. They’re in the Taldot sector, mainly industrial and agricultural planets. The closest place to land is the Rearqu Cluster, a system of ten planets, three of which are inhabitable and settled. They’re members of the Republic in name only; no planetary representation in the Senate, no unique or valuable resources, and the odds of them having much concern with the war being fought in the rest of the galaxy is low.

“I’m going to take us out of hyperspace,” he growls, and stalks to the ladder. Echo doesn’t respond.

***

Up in the cockpit, Jango allows himself one furious scream before sitting down in the pilot’s chair to tell the computer to end their jump early. He’s never going to assume any sort of job is going to be easy ever again.

He pulls the lever and the ship drops back into realspace with a shudder. The computer helpfully brings up an update on the fast-approaching planetary system.

Rearqu Nine looks like the best option. It boasts a town large enough to have an actual medical center in what is otherwise endless farmland — mainly a few varieties of tubers. He’ll just have to hope that it has working equipment and semi-competent staff.

There is a spaceport on the outskirts of town, practically deserted at the moment since the harvest is still months away. Jango sets down next to a rusty scrapheap that looks like it barely survived its landing and may or may not ever fly again.

When Jango returns to the cargo hold, Echo is slumped against the wall, his chained wrist holding his arm up at an awkward angle. He’s awake, but his eyes look glassy and they’re barely tracking Jango as he approaches carefully.

This could all still be a trick. Echo could be faking the extent of his illness, could attack the moment he’s no longer attached to the wall.

Jango touches the electronic key to the lock on the cuffs, the other hand on his blaster in case Echo lunges.

The only movement Echo makes is to let his hand fall to the floor with a thud and a groan.

Jango grimaces as he scoops Echo up and deposits him in the back of his speeder, then brushes off his armor as best he can. He’s raising a child; his clothes get covered in dubious substances regularly, but somehow it’s not as bad when it’s from Boba. 

He does his best not to listen to the sounds coming from the back as he drives into town. Should have brought the cleaning droid, probably.

Jango parks outside the medcenter, and hauls Echo out of the speeder and into the building. The young person behind the desk takes one look at them and immediately calls for a hover-cot. It arrives moments later, along with a doctor, and Jango deposits Echo onto the cot and then follows him and the doctor to the back room.

“My name is Dr. Pellian,” the doctor says. “Can you tell me what’s wrong with him?”

“He was injured in an explosion last year,” Jango says. “Lots of internal damage, and they had to replace a lot of his organs. I’m afraid he may have eaten something his body couldn’t handle.”

Echo doesn’t contradict him. Jango’s not sure he’s even aware of what’s going on.

Pellian nods, looking between them. “He’s your son?” they ask.

“He’s my…nephew,” Jango says. That should be enough to explain the physical similarities, but his mind shies away from the thought of claiming a closer relationship.

“I’ll do everything I can,” Pellian promises, and floats the cot over to a scanner.

Jango wants to hover, but he also doesn’t want to get kicked out, so he sits down on a chair beside another cot and watches the doctor run the scanner over Echo. It beeps unhappily all too frequently, and Jango winces when it catches the abrasion on Echo’s wrist.

Pellian gives Jango a sharp look but doesn’t say anything. They finish the scan and frown at the results, heading over to a medical droid currently inactive in its charging station.

At the press of a button, the droid whirs to life. “Offworlder human with intestinal failure,” Pellian tells it. “Part of it is biosynthetic. It’ll need reconstruction at the very least. The liver doesn’t look great either.”

The droid nods and goes over to Echo, who has curled up with his eyes closed, but immediately jerks and tries to get away when he feels its metallic touch on his arm. “No, please, no more,” he begs.

“I will not hurt you,” the droid tells Echo. “Please allow me to treat your illness.”

“It always hurts,” Echo whispers. Pellian turns to flat-out glare at Jango, who does his best to project innocent confusion.

“You are sick,” the droid says. “You need to lie flat so that I can help you.” It takes Echo’s arm again, and Echo, with a surprising display of strength, practically throws himself off the side of the cot. Pellian catches him, and between them and the droid, manages to maneuver Echo back onto the cot, face-up.

Before Echo can try to get away again, Pellian straps a mask to his face. Within seconds, Echo’s body goes limp.

Pellian stares down at him for a moment, breathing hard, and then looks back at Jango. “Once the surgery is done, I have questions for you,” they say.

Jango curses inwardly. “Of course,” he says.

“This part is going to get messy,” Pellian says. “Stay or go, I don’t care.”

Jango is no stranger to blood, and he hates the idea of letting Echo out of his sight, but abdominal surgery smells vile, and he doesn’t particularly want to stay in a room with a doctor who is just going to keep giving him dirty looks.

“I’ll wait out front,” he says.

***

Several hours pass before Pellian comes back out, looking grim but satisfied. “He’s stabilized for now. Should wake up from the sedative in about twelve hours; his body is having an even harder time metabolizing it than I’d expected. You’re lucky you got here when you did; another hour and he would have been in complete organ failure.”

“Will he be able to travel once he wakes up?” Jango says. “We were on our way to a family wedding when he got sick, and neither of us want to miss it.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to need to keep him under observation for at least three days, maybe more,” Pellian says. “These types of surgeries are tricky, and it’s not uncommon for the patient to relapse.”

If they’re stuck here for three more days, he won’t make it back to Skako Minor within the promised week. Jango can explain the situation and ask for more time, but it rankles his pride. He scowls internally, while projecting nothing but mild disappointment. “Of course, his health is more important,” he says.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Pellian says, their voice even but their eyes glittering dangerously. “Because, to be blunt, I’ve never treated a patient with clearer signs of abuse and neglect. I’d even go so far as to call some of it torture.”

Jango pulls back. “You think that I—”

“I don’t know,” Pellian says. “You tell me.”

“I brought him here, didn’t I? Why would I do that if I thought it would result in someone calling the authorities on me?”

“He has clear signs of malnutrition and dehydration. Prosthetics unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, with shoddy connection ports and no attempts to minimize scarring on the residual limbs. I can’t even figure out what all those nodes in his skull are for, but they’re certainly not medically necessary. All I know for sure is that they’re leaching toxic metals into his bloodstream as his body tries to reject and break them down. Bruises on his face and abrasions on his wrist, and a strong fear response to the med droid. Do I need to continue?”

“He’s my _nephew_ ,” Jango tries.

“Mm,” Pellian says. “I ran a blood sample in the hopes of finding his medical history in the galactic database. The computer returned a lot more results than I was expecting.”

Kriffing hells. Jango’s not going to be able to bluff his way out of this.

“Care to explain how you got your hands on a clone trooper, sir?”

Jango takes a moment to consider his options. He can stun the doctor, the secretary behind the desk, and the medical droid, grab Echo, and get offworld before they wake up to alert the authorities. Pellian was probably exaggerating how bad Echo’s condition is. But if they weren’t, Jango runs the risk of his bounty dying before reaching their destination.

He can try to lie. Claim that he’s the one who rescued Echo from the Separatists. That will work only as long as Echo is unconscious and unable to refute Jango’s statements, though.

His only other option is to leave Echo and run, but that’s one that he refuses to consider.

Lying will have to do for now.

“I found him on a Separatist planet,” Jango says. “He was their prisoner, yes, but he escaped. I was giving him a ride back to Coruscant, tried to give him something to eat, and here we are.”

Pellian doesn’t look at all convinced. “You just offered him a ride out of the kindness of your heart?”

“Well, I was hoping the GAR might reward me for returning one of their soldiers.”

“Ah,” Pellian says, a wealth of disapproval in that short sound. “And can I ask, what were you doing on a Separatist planet in the first place, that you came across him?”

“I’m a cargo hauler,” Jango says. “Don’t much care who I’m working for, as long as they’ll pay me.”

“And what does a cargo hauler need such fancy armor for?” Pellian says.

“You never know when you’re going to run into pirates,” Jango says, but he can tell Pellian hasn’t believed a word he’s said. He should have just knocked everyone out when he had the chance.

“I see,” Pellian says, much sharper than Jango would like. “In that case, since the clinic is closing for the evening and you’re not really his family, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

It’s absurd for Jango to feel threatened by this unarmed doctor on a backwater planet, yet he retreats a step anyway.

“Right,” he says. “Of course.”

It’s not like Echo is going anywhere. Jango can come back for him in the morning.

“You’re not going to make me call the security forces, are you?” Pellian asks when Jango doesn’t move fast enough.

Jango grits his teeth but inclines his head. “I’m glad you were able to save him,” he says, and stomps back to his speeder.

***

Jango wakes before the sun rises, to the sound of a large vehicle passing low overhead. He’d spent the remainder of the evening coming up with contingency plans in case Pellian decides to call the local authorities after all, and he’s fairly confident that he can fight his way through whatever form of law enforcement this planet has to offer even if he can’t talk his way into getting what he wants.

It’s too early to go back to the medcenter unless he’s planning on breaking Echo out after all, which shouldn’t be necessary, but there’s no way Jango can go back to sleep. He gets up, runs through some basic exercises, uses the fresher, and then starts buckling his armor on, tucking an extra blaster and a few spare power packs into his belt in addition to his usual arsenal.

He can handle a few security forces and a single doctor if he needs to. So why is he so nervous?

The drive into town takes longer than it did yesterday, since Jango isn’t in nearly as much of a hurry. He’s not sure what time the medcenter opens, but there are lights on inside when he drives past and finds a parking spot, which is a good sign.

He takes one step inside the building and then freezes, both hands going to his blasters, although he doesn’t actually draw them.

The waiting room is full of clones. Jango counts two dozen, and there are probable more in the back as well. All heavily-armed, silent, and arranged in such a way as to make it nearly impossible to get through them. Jango curses under his breath.

“Hi boys,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

Pellian steps out. “I have a friend on Lantilles who works in the shipyards,” he says. “There’s a whole GAR garrison there, did you know that?”

Jango did. It’s why he hadn’t even considered stopping there, even though the medical facilities would undoubtedly have been better.

“That doesn’t explain what a whole lot of soldiers are doing in your clinic.”

“Doesn’t it?” Pellian says, mild. “I would think you would be able to figure it out. After all, Echo told me so many interesting things about you.”

The cursing under his breath intensifies. There’s no good cover in the room, not unless he can get past ten clones to the secretary’s desk.

He should have just taken Echo yesterday. Now he’s going to have to fight a literal army to get him back.

Inside his helmet, Jango bares his teeth. It’s not a fight he’s going to be able to win; he’s far too outnumbered. The moment he backs down, he’s going to lose his bounty, and giving up has never been in his nature, but if he refuses, he’s going to get very thoroughly shot, and they’ll take Echo anyway.

Jango eases his hands away from his blasters. “What kinds of interesting things?” he says. He’s stalling for time, mostly, mind racing as he tries to come up with a new plan.

“Your name, Mr. Fett,” Pellian says, ice cold. “Your profession. Your plans for him.”

“Then why didn’t these men just take him and leave?”

If possible, Pellian’s tone gets even harder. “He refused. Was concerned that you might interpret a rescue as an escape attempt, and take out your anger on someone he holds dear. I believe his exact words were, ‘Even if it means I never see him again, I can’t be the reason why he dies.’”

Jango is genuinely surprised. He hadn’t thought Echo’s oath meant much; he himself would never have stopped trying to escape, no matter the consequences.

“To be clear, sir, we _will_ be bringing our brother home,” the clone commander speaks up. He taps a band on his wrist and a screen pops up, displaying the service record of a clone with a goatee, a stenciled “five” tattoo on his right temple, and a cheesy grin for the camera. His ident number and name are both marked in red. “ARC-27-5555 was killed a month and a half ago.”

Jango is unprepared for the wave of grief that washes over him. This was the man Echo so desperately wanted to be with, the man he’d been willing to sacrifice his freedom for. If he’d managed to escape just a few weeks earlier, maybe Echo could have saved him. 

“You haven’t told him yet?” Jango says.

“Dr. Pellian felt it would interfere with his recovery.”

Pellian is probably right, Jango thinks. To be rescued only to learn that his best friend died while he was gone could very well break Echo. 

“What we need from you is assurance that you won’t retaliate against any of Echo’s surviving squadmates,” the commander continues. Fives’ image vanishes, and every single clone’s blaster comes up to point at Jango. “A verbal confirmation will be sufficient.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that,” Jango says quietly.

“Good,” the commander says. “Please understand that if you change your mind at a later time, there are a lot of men here who will make sure you regret that decision.”

Jango clenches his fists, but there’s nothing he can do, no way he can get to Echo.

_Besides_ , a voice in his head whispers, _you know what the Techno Union would do to him. You never really wanted to hand him back to them._

“Now I think it’s time for you to leave,” the commander says.

Jango is sure as hells not going to turn his back on this many blasters. He takes a step backwards, but before he gets any further, Pellian calls out, “Wait!”

They toss two items at Jango, who catches them on instinct. The first is a tracking chip, still covered in Echo’s blood from the surgery Pellian must have done to remove it. The second is Echo’s prosthetic arm.

“Tell the Techno Union you followed the signal, and this is what you found,” Pellian says. “They won’t be able to send anyone else after him without a signal to track, plus you get to save face.”

Jango stares at them for a minute. “Why?” he asks.

“I can be gracious in my victory,” Pellian tells him. “Now, the commander here is right. It’s time for you to go.”

Jango stares for a moment longer, then nods sharply. He turns his head to the commander. “Tell Echo...tell him I’m sorry for his loss,” he says.

Nobody shoots him as he backs out the door and goes over to his speeder.

He gives the building one last assessing gaze. Echo is in the back. Jango might be able to smash through a window, use Echo as a shield, and get them both back to his ship before the rest of the clones can stop him. It would be risky, but Jango has pulled off crazier stunts.

He looks down at the chip and the arm, still clutched in his hands. Pellian gave him a way out — one that lets Jango retain his reputation with his clients and ensures Echo’s safety at the same time. It’s the easy way out, the coward’s way, but…it’s the best choice he can make.

Jango tosses the prosthetic onto the passenger seat and tucks the chip into his belt, and starts up the engine. Once he’s finished the job, he’ll give Boba a call, he thinks. He wants to hear his son’s voice, watch the way he lights up when talking about something new that he’s learned, and then maybe, just maybe, Jango will be able to put this mess behind him.


End file.
